Sometime when I was in the 9th grade and attending Palms Junior High School in Los Angeles, California, I began to be concerned about where I’d go to high school. The junior high was highly diverse, and race relations at the campus were challenging enough for a lily white bred kid like me without worrying about making the transition to the predominantly black Hamilton High several miles to the east. The student body was approximately 27% in the late ‘70s, and many of the neighborhood white families made arrangements to switch to private schools on the west side like St. Monica’s (in Santa Monica) or St. Bernard’s (in Westchester). Many more worked to get some kind of fake address so they could go to theoretically better public schools like University…which was almost in Brentwood in the shadow of UCLA.
One afternoon while my father was puttering
away in the garage, I reasoned it would be a good time to broach the subject
with the old man. Though I didn’t recall discussing it with him previously, I
was confident he too was aware of the demographic challenges at Hamilton and
that he would no doubt share my concerns about being a distinct minority at the
new school. More importantly, there was a common understanding that I would
play football at Hamilton, and we both knew (or at least I assumed we did) that
the existing team that year was 100% African American (including the head
coach).
My dad was a gruff, no nonsense WWII vet
and union building trades guy, but even with that rough exterior, I knew he’d
sympathize with the reality of my dilemma. So, on that afternoon sometime in
1977, I decided to bring it up.
I remember beginning by telling him that it
was time to give some consideration to where I’d go to high school, and being
almost immediately struck by the fact that my statement didn’t even seem to
register with him. He had is back to me as he milled around on the work bench…and
though I watched him closely he didn’t really respond. So…I repeated the
statement and the rest of the conversation went pretty close to this…
“Why do we need to give any thought to
where you’re going to school?”
“Well…many of my friends in the neighbor
are switching to private schools like St. Monica’s or St. Bernard’s.”
“Would you like to switch to a private
school?” he asked.
“Yeah…maybe” I said… “A lot of the kids are
doing that.”
“Well,” he responded, “that’s fine then. You
should start making arrangements to switch.”
Like so many things in life, I remember
being relieved that the conversation had gone so much easier than I had
envisioned.
“Oh…by the way” my dad inquired already knowing the answer, “do they
charge tuition at those schools?”
“Yeah…they do” I shot back… “they’re
private so they have to.”
“How much does it cost?” he asked.
“I don’t know” I responded… “but I’ll find
out for you.”
“Don’t find out for me” he said… “find out
for you. You’re the one that is going to be paying it. By the way…just out of
curiosity, did you recently come by some windfall of cash I’m not aware of…because
just off the top of my head, I’m not really seeing how you’re going to afford
this private school scheme of yours.”
“You mean you’re not paying for it?” I
asked.
“I already pay taxes into the public school
system, so why would I pay additional money to send you to a school miles away
from the neighborhood?”
“Because that’s where most of my friends in
the neighborhood will be going to school. The schools are just better there.”
“Well, unless you have a plan on paying for
it, you better just plan on going to school at Hamilton.”
“Well can’t I at least go to University?...A
lot of my friends are going there instead.”
“Did they redraw the district lines so that
you can attend University?” he asked.
“No” I responded… “but a lot of my friends are getting fake
addresses so they can go there.”
Now…I could see my dad was getting a little
agitated. He turned in disgust and faced me…clearly tiring of my line of
questioning.
“Listen…we’re not going to lie so that you
can feel more comfortable going to school with a bunch of people that look more
like you. Give it up…you’re going to Hamilton.”
“Dad…all my friends are going to different
schools that are all better and more equally mixed racially.”
“Well…maybe if all your friends had some guts and went to
Hamilton where they’re supposed to, it would be a better mix.”
Then…finally, I decided to play what I was
sure would be my best selling point. I was so certain he’d see my side once I
laid what I thought was an obvious fact out there for him to consider. I will
never, ever, ever forget this exchange.
“Dad…I’m pleading with you. If I go to Hami
I might end up being the only white kid on the football team. We've been to some games...and this year there isn't a single white kid on the team. Do you hear me…I'll be the
only white kid.”
“Well good…I’ll be proud of you ” he said
softly as he confidently smiled and looked at me… “maybe you’ll start a trend.”
Well... I ended up the only white kid on the varsity team that year at Hami...and I wouldn't trade my experience at that school for anything in the world.
It’s Friday, and it’s time to spend some
time with the people and pets you love doing the things that matter the most. Have
a wonderful weekend, and if you get the chance…give someone you care about a
big hug.
...and sorry for all the typos and misspellings...didn't have time to proof it even once.
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